Just Another Day
by Molly Myles
Summary: When a Djinn hunt goes sideways, Dean gets a glimpse of a future in which Sam has completed the trials and nothing is the way he thought it would be, especially himself. Once he gets back to his own page on the calendar, it's a race against time to prevent the tragedies that are destined to unfold in the weeks to come and save the people he loves. [Destiel]spoilers for s8 finale
1. There's Life Underground

All evidence had pointed toward Djinn when they had started this case two days ago.

Despite Sam's declining health from the trials, they had packed up and set out for Wamego, Kansas on a lead from Garth of five victims who were reported to have been found near an abandoned manufacturing plant. All five had been in a comatose state with a single puncture wound at the joining of the neck and left shoulder. After a day or two, the victims woke, insisting they had lived another life whilst they'd been unconscious. The only thing that had seemed kind of odd at the time was that all the victims were recovered alive, and no outstanding missing persons reports had been filed in the area since the strange occurences had begun roughly three weeks before.

So when Dean plunged the knife dipped in lamb's blood into the thing's breast only to be met with an irritated hiss and a pair of yellow, reptilian eyes, it went without saying that he was surprised. She wasn't quite the picture of the typical Djinn, either; she could almost pass as human, if it weren't for the freaky lizard eyes and olive toned skin that almost looked tinged green. She was tall-ish, dark brown hair falling down her back in tight waves, dressed head to toe in denim with a black t-shirt and biker boots, statuesque with the profile of a Greek cameo. If she'd been human, she'd totally have been the kind of chick Dean could find himself sharing space with at the end of the night. But man, those eyes. Yeah, that totally ruined it for him.

The creature pulled the blade out of her chest, looking it over calmly before turning eyes like slits back toward the hunter, seeming almost amused beneath the anger at having been stabbed. It reminded Dean of a time years ago, in a particular barn, faced with something powerful and unknown. This particular encounter, however, didn't leave him the slightest bit warm and fuzzy.

Sam was somewhere in the warehouse. He had to take this bitch out before it could get to Sammy.

Only problem was, if a knife dipped in lamb's blood didn't take her out then what the crap _was _she, and how the hell was he supposed to put her down?

Instinct took over then, and Dean struck out with what he had left, fists and elbows and knees, punching and kicking and writhing with the nameless creature in front of him. The serpent-woman hissed and bobbed and jigged, avoiding and blocking every blow with fluid ease, and it was pissing Dean off. Why wasn't she attacking? What the hell was the deal here?

Suddenly, the thing was in his face, luminous, slitted yellow eyes swarming his field of vision as her cool, dry hands clamped onto the sides of his face.

She hissed something into his left ear, the alien words punctuated by a sharp pain in his shoulder.

Dean felt the fight go out of him then, drawn in as though hypnotized by her gaze, and he found himself falling away from the world, fading to black.

* * *

Bright afternoon sunlight broke in through the slatted window shades, just bright enough to be completely freaking annoying.

Dean opened his eyes abruptly, registering the off-white walls of the small bedroom, the not-quite-rock-hard mattress he was laying on and the fact that, rather than his usual t-shirt and boxers, he had apparently slept in the buff last night.

Only, last night...

Dean spun out of the bed, wrapping the thin, striped sheet around himself as he searched the room, looking for something to wear which, oddly enough, presented itself to him in the closet. Every item of clothing he owned and then some hung in a neat rows on the suspiciously colour-coordinated hangers, arranged by colour and style, from plaid shirts to long-sleeved henleys to t-shirts, jeans pressed (pressed? Who the hell irons jeans!?) and neatly hung on the opposite side.

Pausing to file this observation away, he hurriedly pulled on a pair of comfortably worn jeans and, upon cautious appraisal, his favourite AC/DC t-shirt.

Thrown off by the discovery of finding his belongings in a closet he'd never seen before, he took another moment to glance around the room. It wasn't overly decorated, just a few posters on the walls, a night stand and plain lamp beside the full-size wooden-framed bed and a small four-drawer dresser against the opposite wall. On top of the dresser he found his leather bi-fold wallet beside Ruby's knife, both familiar and welcome as he grabbed them and ventured to explore the rest of this place he'd woken in, all while racking his brain to try and remember how he got here.

He remembered Sam arguing his case about going to Wamego with him, that even though Djinn were a relatively simple job, it'd be better to have someone at his back anyway, just in case. He remembered tracking it to an office in the production plant, and then...

Then he'd woken up in a strange bedroom with his crap all over it.

Yeah, this just kept getting better and better.

Carefully, with the demon-killing knife gripped in his hand, blade resting flat against his wrist, he nudged open the bedroom door and crept out into what was, apparently, a small one-bedroom apartment.

The rest of the dwelling was much like the bedroom; sparsely decorated, a few items hanging on the walls that Dean vaguely recognized from the Bunker; a scimitar, a shelf full of old books, a KNAACK locker against the wall beyond what looked like a hand-me-down entertainment centre bearing an old console television and an XBOX. A threadbare beige couch stood opposite the television, a pair of mis-matched chairs flanking it on either side with a rough-looking coffee table at the centre of it all, a few beer bottles set upon it alongside a pair of controllers for the game system and the television's remote control.

To his right, adjoining the living room, was a small dining area with a table and four chairs that looked just as rough as the living room furniture, a folded newspaper and empty coffee cup the only evidence of life in the apartment other than Dean himself. Beyond the table was a sliding glass door that led out onto a small wooden patio. Peeking through the curtain, Dean could make out a small vegetable garden in pots and buckets growing a variety of peppers, tomatoes and some other plants he couldn't identify, as well as a couple of hanging baskets laden with strawberries.

Frowning, Dean stepped back, his stance loosening as he passed the kitchen. He peeked into the bathroom, where he found nothing more interesting than a pair of razors, a pair of toothbrushes and the usual things one might expect to find in, well, a bathroom. Hoping to find something descriptive, he opened up the medicine cabinet and scored when he saw, on the top shelf, three orange pill bottles with prescription labels neatly tacked onto the sides.

Pulling one down, he turned it in his hands until he found the patient name: NOVAK, JAMES C.

Well, he thought to himself, _that _was totally unexpected. Not to mention _really _unsettling.

With a frown, he put the bottle back on the shelf (anti-anxiety medication, his mind catalogued absently) and closed the cabinet, making his way back into the living room.

What the hell? So he was at Jimmy Novak's place? If he was at Jimmy's place, what had happened to Castiel? Dean felt a pang in his chest at the thought that Cas might be gone. It wasn't like he had anything against Jimmy, he was an all right guy from what Dean knew of him, but Cas? Cas was something else. He hadn't seen the angel since the guy had beaten his face in and taken off with the angel tablet just a few weeks ago, this place looked way too lived in for it to have only been here that long. There was also the fact that Dean's stuff was here, as well. And Sam... Where the hell was Sam?

Returning to the kitchen, he found his cell phone plugged in next to the toaster (why the hell wasn't it with his wallet? He never let that thing leave his side, what if Sam had called? Maybe Jimmy had plugged it in for him while he was out... why was he out? The Djinn knocked him out... What the hell was going on? Gah, too many questions). Flipping it open, he scrolled through the short list of contacts, but Sam's number wasn't there - just a blank entry with his name and no number.

Weird.

Backing out to the main screen, he hit speed dial one, and nearly dropped the damned thing as Cindy Lauper's _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun _began blaring in his ear.

What the fuck, Sam? _Cindy Lauper!?_

"Hello?" greeted a familiar, female, totally-not-Sam voice.

"... Charlie?" What the hell was Charlie's number doing on his speed-dial? Sure, they were friends, but he didn't call her all _that _often... "Charlie! It's-"

"Psych! Just kidding. I can't get to the phone right now, so, when it beeps, you know what to do!"

"Hey, Charlie, it's me, uh... Dean. Winchester. Um, look. I dunno what the hell's goin' on, but uh... I've got some pretty weird crap going on here, and I think I could use your input. You uh, you haven't uh... n-nevermind. Just gimme a call back, okay?"

Folding his phone closed and shoving it in his pocket, he scrubbed a hand down his face, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now. He could head out, but he had no idea where he was, and everything was too familiar to just be coincidence.

_Treat this like a case, Dean, _Sam's irritatingly rational voice advised him from inside his head. _First thing's first; figure out what you're dealing with._

"Yeah, thanks. I did that. It just opened up a whole can of worms I don't even know where to begin with!"

_Dude, calm down, _Rational-Sam-Head-Voice admonished, _go take a look at the newspaper on the table. Maybe it'll tell you something, maybe you're working on a case here and something went South._

"I _am _calm," Dean pouted at the voice, but did as it suggested anyway, picking up the newspaper and glancing over the headlines and the title reading _Detroit Sun Times_. "Wait, Detroit?"

He frowned at the paper as though it had insulted his intelligence, glaring at it like it might change its tune if he could just intimidate it with scowly facial expressions. The newspaper didn't seem impressed, however, and continued to proclaim the same information it had done just moments ago.

He was just about to drop it back on the table when the date caught his eye; August 17th, 2014.

2014!?

Dean felt himself blanch as he sank into one of the dining chairs, staring at the newspaper like it had just transformed into a nest of snakes in his hand. This had to be a Djinn-dream. Had to be. But why this? Why in some random apartment, in _Jimmy Novak's _apartment? The last encounter he'd had with a Djinn had been much different. True, it wasn't perfection, but it had at least been a familiar setting.

This, wherever this was, was anything but familiar.

He was just beginning to work up his resolve to find a pair of boots and get the hell out of there when he heard the sound of footfalls climbing up the steps outside the front door, followed by a key turning in the lock.

An unwelcome flutter worked its way through his intestines, holding his breath as he heard the door swing open on the other side of the wall partition separating the living area from the front door. The door shut, sound of another door opening, shoes being shucked off and the aforementioned door closing again.

Dean was still gripping the newspaper in his hands when a familiar figure came into view; white shirt, skewed blue tie, wild, untamed hair and about a day and a half's worth of stubble.

A brief smile flashed across the dark-haired man's face, accompanied by a slightly puzzled expression.

"You're home early," he greeted Dean in that familiar, sandpaper-rough voice - though it was lighter, somehow more relaxed than he remembered. It reminded him of when the other man, who was then an angel of the Lord, had informed him of his intent to become a hunter.

Dean wasn't sure how to respond to that. Home? Early? What? He tried a few words, but none of what he wanted to say seemed to fit on his tongue. He didn't _know _what he wanted to say; that this wasn't his home? He didn't remember how he'd ended up here? His head began hurting again.

The other man seemed to pick up on his silent floundering, a frown darkening his brow as he pulled out a chair to sit beside the hunter, gingerly prying the newspaper out of Dean's white-knuckled grip.

"Dean?"

Dean became aware that he was staring into the depths of those worried blue eyes, eyes that he had last seen through a fog of pain and confusion. He finally released the breath he had held since first hearing the door and forced himself to try a smile. He hoped it was working.

"Uh, hey," he tried, attempting not to sound awkward, though he was pretty sure he was failing miserably at it, "um, Jim... thanks for uh, I guess..."

He fumbled through whatever it was that was trying to pass off as a greeting or whatever, and Jimmy's eyes grew more and more confused as he continued mumbling near-nonsense. Whatever was going on here, Dean was pretty sure he didn't like it. The other man had pulled back, staring at him in earnest with a mixture of unabashed bewilderment and concern, brow furrowed in a way that made Dean think more of Cas than the man he'd met only briefly years before.

"Dean, stop," he said, leaning forward and taking Dean's hand in his own, then pulling away when the hunter abruptly snapped his jaw shut to stare down at the hands wrapped around his.

_Huh, _Dean thought to himself as he pulled his own hands back, straightening up in his seat to search the blue eyes that were intently focused on him in contemplation, _that was fucking weird._

Jimmy cleared his throat, seeming to gather courage before meeting Dean's eyes fully. The hunter could see hurt there, and perhaps a bit of fear as well. What the fuck was going on here?

"Dean," he began again, hands folded neatly in his lap as he fixed his eyes on the other man's chin, "you... you do remember that... Jimmy Novak is dead?"

Oh. Now it was Dean's turn to stare. What the actual _fuck _was going on? Djinn dream. Right. But seriously, what the fuck?

"Uh, right... Cas..." he murmured, glancing again to the newspaper. This wasn't making any sense. Djinn venom was supposed to act on the subconscious mind, extracting the heart's innermost desires and all that shit, construct a reality based on that. Maybe he was wrong, but he'd kinda figured if that were the case, he'd be at home with Lisa and Ben, or maybe that weird reality where his mom was alive and Sam was in college and engaged to Jess... but a shitty one bedroom with _Cas_? Weird didn't even begin to cut it.

Whatever. Sam would find him. That... whatever the hell that creature was... she wasn't killing anyone - it was more like a dine and dash. So, he'd be all right, right? Then again, he _did _stab her...

"Dean, are you all right?"

_Play it cool, __Winchester_.

Dean flashed his most winning smile at the angel sitting across from him. "Yeah, fantastic. I'm awesome. So, uh... what's up?"

Castiel looked at him oddly, not seeming to buy it.

"Um," Dean continued, glancing around, "so where's Sam?"

The angel's face did this weird flip-flop, his eyebrows shooting up as his eyes narrowed, brow furrowed and seeming to spasm as his mouth worked, as though unsure if he should react with Human Facial Expression #8 or Human Facial Expression #26.

Castiel stood, walking calmly to the little kitchen, keeping his eyes on Dean as he moved around the place like he'd lived there his whole life.

Dean barely registered a flash of red before a stream of cold water struck him dead in the face, leaving him sputtering.

"Wh-what the fuck, Cas!?"

The angel in question merely regarded him contemplatively as he set the squirt gun down, then moved back around the bar, lashing out with quick and precise movements.

"OW! Son of a- dude! Did you just-" Dean stammered, grabbing a napkin from the table and holding it over the shallow nick on his left forearm, courtesy of the silver knife held firmly in Castiel's hand. "Swear to God if you soap me or throw salt in my eyes, angel or not I will fucking punch you!"

The look on Castiel's face went from stolid and wary to simply being sad and concerned, setting the knife down on the counter top and leaning his hip against the ledge of the island separating the kitchen from the dining area, folding his arms over his chest with a sigh.

"Dean," he said again and damn it, Dean was kind of getting sick of hearing his own name.

"All right, I give," Dean huffed, standing from the table and pacing toward the living room, "I have _no _fucking idea what's going on here. I'm pretty sure I'm passed out on a dirty warehouse floor in fucking Kansas, but knowing my life, fuck! This could be goddamn anything. I mean, fucking hell, Cas - the last I remember it was goddamn 2013 and you were fuck knows where."

Castiel's eyes widened suddenly in comprehension.

"What!?" Dean spat, tossing the napkin onto the coffee table.

"I see," was all his friend could come up with, it seemed. The angel smiled sadly at him, and dammit that just made Dean want to punch his smug face even more than he already did.

"Oh, do you? Because I sure as fuck don't!"

Castiel nodded, staring down at his feet, as though contemplating something profound.

With a sigh, he brought his eyes back up, pausing before he began to speak.

"I think I understand. This will not be easy to hear," Cas said, staying exactly as he was, "it's been a year since Sam completed the trials to close the gates of Hell. A... a lot has happened."

Dean blinked at this. A year? Sam completed the trials?

The angel nodded, continuing, "Sam didn't survive, Dean. The trials... he wasn't meant to. Something that big, something that would have such a profound effect on humanity... There was always meant to be a... a sacrifice."

"What the fuck are you saying to me, Cas?" Dean bit out, forgetting for the moment that this was all supposed to be a dream. "And where the fuck were _you _when..."

Castiel looked away again. "I made a mistake. I-"

Dean didn't think, just acted, his fist like a guided missile propelling him across the room to connect with the other man's jaw, only...

Cas was an angel, so why the fuck was he now sprawled on the kitchen floor, hand on the side of his face like that'd actually _hurt him_? Dean was the one who should be in pain after stupidly clocking the celestial being, not...

Castiel just flexed his jaw, smiling ruefully as he pulled himself to his feet, keeping his distance from the angered hunter nonetheless. Dean instantly felt guilt welling up in his gut, mingling with the confusion and the rage.

"As I said," he continued, "I made a mistake. I trusted someone I shouldn't have. I'm not an angel anymore, Dean."

_I'm not an angel anymore, Dean._

A shudder coursed through the hunter as he stared at the shorter man in front of him, horrified at the reminder of his last jaunt into the future, to _2014._

_"_Why are you so fucking calm about this," Dean demanded, fists clenching at his sides again in anger because really, was this fucking _real_? Sam gone, Cas human, the two of them apparently sharing an apartment together... what the fuck had happened over the last year?

"I'm going to go to the store," Cas said, ignoring the question as he turned away, disappearing into the bedroom Dean had woken up in.

"Hey!" Dean called out after him, stopping as he registered the fact that _there was only one bedroom_. Did Cas crash on the couch or something? He was human now, so that meant he slept somewhere, right? "What the hell, man? You can't just _walk out on a conversation like that_!"

The door opened a few moments later, Cas re-emerging in a pair of jeans and Dean's Led Zeppelin shirt as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be wearing Dean's clothes.

"Dean, I know you well enough that explaining things to you won't do much good unless you've come to your own conclusions," Cas explained as he headed toward the door, pulling on a pair of fucking _Converse_ of all things. An angel. In Converse. Dean had officially seen it all. "I don't know exactly what is happening, but relax, look around the apartment. I'll be back in half an hour."

Dean had barely registered that the door had closed behind the retreating angel before realising that he took the keys to the Impala from the key hook by the door._  
_

_Cas took the Impala._

"HEY! Son of a bitch," Dean swore as he ripped the door open, flying down the stairs just in time to see his Baby being driven off by that fucking dick with wings he'd befriended.

"You scratch my fucking car Cas and I'll fucking murder you," he muttered under his breath as he climbed the stairs back up to the apartment. Not like he had anything better to do.

With a sigh, he stood at the entryway to the living room, taking it in once more. Everything looked thrift-store bought, other than what had obviously come from the bunker. But why move to some crappy little apartment in Michigan? The bunker'd had everything they needed, right there.

Then again, with Sam...

No, he wasn't going to even think about that. Not yet. He knew the trials were kicking his brother's ass in the worst way, but really? They were the fucking good guys, why couldn't they catch a fucking break? They had closed the gates of Hell, if he'd inferred what Cas had said correctly, but the cost just seemed too fucking high.

Damn, he'd thought about it anyway. Sammy...

Dean sat on the couch with a heavy sigh. "Damn it, Sam, it was supposed to be _me_ you fucking moron..."

He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to decide how to feel. A year ago. It felt so remote, yet it was fresh at the same time. His little brother was gone, so long gone there was literally nothing he could do about it. Sam had sacrificed himself to do exactly what they had been fighting for all those years; a means to an end.

At the end of it all, he supposed he was proud of his little brother. It was a hell of a thing.

Then there was Castiel. What had happened there? Had Cas done the angel trials after his Houdini act with the tablet? And what was up with the pills under Jimmy Novak's name? The thought should worry him, the parallels he was seeing between this... dream? Future? Whatever this was, and the future Zachariah had shown him. At least Cas seemed balanced, from what he saw... he appeared autonomous, doing things for himself, and not clouded in a haze of illicit drugs and alcohol.

Speaking of which, Dean could really go for a drink right about now. Where would he stash liquor in a place like this?

He stood, moving into the kitchen to peek through the cabinets. This place was nothing like the bunker's kitchen, with all its industrial steel, gas-powered appliances and walk in pantry and enormous cold-storage. It was comparatively tiny, the shelves crowded with boxed dry goods and cans, but he found what he was looking for anyway, pouring himself a glass of scotch (and not even the shitty kind, this was like, mid-shelf at least).

He gave in to poking around the place, looking for clues as to what kind of life he'd landed in after the Trials were completed.

On the top two shelves of the book-case were a number of framed photographs; the one of him and his mom when he was a kid stood in front, making him smile. There were a couple of him and Sam that looked like they'd been printed out from one of their phones, as well. He smiled sadly when he came across one he remembered well; him, Sammy, Bobby, Ellen and Jo Harvelle and Cas, just before...

He shook his head, moving on from the painful memory and frowning at two in particular that stood out among the rest that he didn't recognize; One was of him and Cas at what looked like a church gathering - it was older, a stone and mortar building with a high bell tower and stained glass windows. It looked like they were having a barbecue, and in the photo, he was stationed at the grill, Cas smiling and wedged up beside him, far beyond the boundaries of personal space.

The other looked like the interior of a bar, Cas and Charlie seated at a table side by side, and Dean stood behind Cas with his arms wrapped around his friend, resting his chin on the other man's shoulder and grinning like an idiot. What the hell? Maybe they were all drunk or something. He picked the picture up, looking closer at the details. He looked so... happy, like he didn't have shit to worry about and all was right with the world.

The door clicked, and Dean downed the rest of his scotch, setting the picture back on the shelf and moving away from it as though it was something incriminating.

He stepped around the entertainment centre just in time to meet Cas as he was coming back in, carrying a couple of re-usable shopping bags in one hand as he hung the keys to the Impala back in their hook.

"So," he said offhandedly, "you drive now?"

Cas smiled almost shyly, going into the kitchen and setting the bags down on the counter to put away his purchases.

"Yes," he shrugged, "you taught me a few months after I... after my stay here became permanent."

Dean frowned at the sadness in the other man's tone, watching him carefully. "What happened?"

Cas glanced over as he put a box of cereal (some kind of whole grain crap) on top of the refrigerator, a small, mysterious smile on his face.

"It's not really of any import, now," he said, folding the now empty bags and tucking them away under the sink, "as I said. I made a mistake."

Dean scowled, wondering what kind of mistake would cost him his wings.

"What's going on here, Cas?" Dean blurted, all the clues he'd found around the apartment adding up to a big fat X he didn't really want to think about.

Cas shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, leaning a shoulder against the frame of the kitchen entryway and regarded the hunter for a long moment as though contemplating his very existence whilst visually vivisecting his soul. Basically, the usual Cas stare, but for some reason, something in the former angel's eyes made him a little uneasy. He'd loosened up a lot over the last couple of years, but not like this - not so easy and comfortable in his own skin.

"You said the last that you remember was shortly after I left with the tablet?" Cas tilted his head.

Dean nodded, refilling his glass.

"I did return to you, obviously," Dean snorted at this. Thank you, Captain Obvious. "I had been moving from place to place for weeks, trying to stay a step ahead of Naomi and the other angels. They... found me, unfortunately, as did Crowley. It seemed that there were angels working closely with the King of Hell, feeding him information regarding Naomi's search for me.

"I escaped but was seriously wounded, and I found my way to you. It wasn't easy, and you were angry that I had left on such... bad terms with you, and that I had not contacted you in all that time. You found Metatron, and though Crowley had found the prophet and taken the demon tablet, he helped you with the third trial.

"At the same time, I spoke with him and he made a proposition to me; he wanted to seal the gates of Heaven, to put the angels on 'time out'"

Dean snorted as Castiel finger quoted the expression for emphasis, allowing a small smile at the image of all those jerk angels with their noses in the corner. But then, how was Cas still here if he'd completed the trials on the angel tablet? Wouldn't he have been sucked back up to Heaven with the rest of them? Even more, weren't his brothers pretty much all pissed off at him for all the crap he'd pulled up there?

Cas sighed, pulling a glass from the cabinet and pouring for himself, sipping thoughtfully.

"I was betrayed. Metatron stole my Grace and cast the angels out of Heaven. All of them."

Dean stared at the fallen angel as he sipped his scotch, not looking at the hunter. There was pain in the other man's eyes, and an ache throbbed through Dean's chest that he wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with.

He opened his mouth, a question forming on his lips that felt like a revelation, but was cut short as a loud chime caught him off-guard, echoing through the sparsely furnished apartment.

Cas raised an eyebrow, pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning on and going to see who it was at the door.

"Cas," a familiar voice bounced through the air, "where's Dean? Is everything okay?"

Dean moved to the hallway to greet the fiery redhead, recalling the message he'd left her a little over an hour ago.

"Hey, Charlie," Dean attempted to grin, but after everything he'd had dumped on him in the last hour, he wasn't really feeling it.

A pair of slender arms wrapped around his neck suddenly as he received a face-full of ginger locks. He tentatively wrapped his arms around the petit woman, lifting her off her feet.

"Jeez, you jerk!" she admonished as she pulled back, socking him (girly) hard in the arm. "You scared the bejeezus out of me!"

"What," Dean scoffed, "you never heard of picking up your phone and calling back?"

She leveled him with a sizzling glare, rolling her eyes and turning to Cas.

"Cas, tell your boyfriend if he didn't leave me creepy, cryptic messages I wouldn't have to freak out and drive over here at ten miles over the speed limit."

The look of panic that crossed the fallen angel's face would have been fucking hilarious if Dean hadn't been blind-sided by those two syllables that had come out of Charlie Bradbury's mouth.

"_Boyfriend? _For fuck's sake, Charlie, Cas is-" Dean stopped in his tracks, staring between his two friends; the odd, inquisitive look of concern Charlie was giving him and the awkward way Cas _wasn't_ looking at him.

Dean covered his mouth with his hand, staring at Cas as the realization hit him, breaking down his wall of denial; the pictures, the single room, the shared closet, _Cas in Dean's favourite shirt and driving the fucking Impala..._

"Oh, fuck," Dean breathed, and it was a wonder he didn't fucking pass out right there.

* * *

The three of them sat at the dining table later that evening, a barely touched box of pizza between them as they sipped their beers, contemplating the situation.

Dean had explained everything at length to both of them; the hunt in Wamego, the creature they'd thought was a Djinn of some type and how it had got the jump on Dean.

In return, Cas had made a fumbling attempt to explain the last year, Charlie filling in where the former angel had been vague. The fallen angel summarized again what had happened after Naomi had caught up to him in a Biggerson's somewhere in the Mid-West, Crowley had muscled in and run her off with a gun made from an angel's blade. He had shot Cas with it, wounding him and taking the angel tablet from where he had hidden it within himself, and when Crowley had left him under the charge of another angel by the name of Ion, Cas had dug the bullet out of his own wound and used it to incapacitate Ion and make his escape (Dean was secretly really fucking impressed at Castiel's badassery).

Dean understood a little better why Cas had taken the tablet after hearing this story; he was trying to keep it safe, and to keep the Winchesters safe from Naomi by hiding it. Just, his choice of words at the time he took it could have been a little less bitchy, considering.

After bringing him back to the bunker to heal and rest, Metatron had found Cas and made the deal to work with him in closing the gates of Heaven, the scribe relaying the tasks of each trial from memory. The heart of a nephilim and the bow of a cupid were the first two items on the list, and Cas bowed his head as he related this part of his story, ashamed that he had shed more blood needlessly for the sake of a plan that, once again, was a huge mistake.

Metatron had also told them the third and final trial for closing the gates of Hell after rescuing the prophet Kevin from Crowley; to cure a demon.

Crowley contacted them days later, telling them that he would kill everyone they had ever saved unless they gave him the demon tablet. At a loss for another option, they agreed in exchange for the angel tablet - though instead of following through on the deal, they tricked th King of Hell, capturing him with iron shackles engraved with demon warding sigils they had found in the bunker, using Crowley as the third and final trial.

Sam performed the ritual in an old abandoned church whilst Dean went to assist Castiel in completing the second trial of the angel tablet. They succeeded, but then were met by Naomi, who told them that Metatron had lied, that he was seeking revenge and that he had not been honest with them about the third trial on the demon tablet; that completing the trials would kill Sam.

Doubtful but cautious, Cas had returned Dean to the church to try and intervene and save his brother, but instead of staying with Dean, Cas had gone to Heaven to confront Metatron about what Naomi had told them. Dean had tried to reach his brother, but Sam was insistant, weighing his own life against the world and coming up short in his own mind, completing the ritual on the King of Hell despite Dean's pleading for him to stop, to not leave him alone.

When Cas found Metatron in Heaven and questioned him about what Naomi had told them, the scribe revealed his hand, trapping Castiel and cutting out his Grace to use as the final component of a spell that would cast every last angel out of Heaven other than himself and then dropping the newly-human Cas in the middle of the woods on the other side of the lake from the church where the demon trials were completed.

It had taken him a couple of hours to circumvent the lake, but he found Dean still there holding Sam's body, the just-cured Crowley dead from a gunshot wound to the head, still tied to the chair in the middle of the chapel with Dean's gun at his feet.

Castiel had stayed with Dean in silence until the hunter was ready to let go, then had helped him burn Sam's body in a pyre on the lake.

They had returned to the bunker, but Dean had proclaimed it reminded him too much of his brother and, in a drunken rage, had tried to set it on fire.

Most of the archives were untouched, the bunker's fire system preventing any serious damage to the structure, but afterward it had been decided that, at least for a while, they should go somewhere else.

That somewhere else at first happened to be Charlie's house in Farmington Hills, Michigan, until about six months ago, when Dean and Cas had decided to try out living on their own like... sort of normal people.

What neither Cas nor Charlie mentioned was when or how exactly the apparently retired hunter and former angel had ended up sharing a room as well as an apartment, but then again, Dean wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. He and Cas had always been pretty close, like brothers almost. Cas had been there for him more often than not, despite royally fucking things up a few times. But hey, Dean had started the goddamn Apocalypse, so he guessed he really couldn't hold it against the guy.

It was a lot to take in, but he supposed he sort of understood where the shift in their friendship had come from; with Sam gone, and Castiel fallen, Dean would have done anything to occupy his mind, to keep himself going after losing his brother. Cas had been there, had needed Dean as much as Dean needed him - probably more so.

Dean could see himself taking care of Cas, probably being a pain in the ass about it, too. He could see their friendship strengthening and straining over the weeks and months until it reached a breaking point. He had always suspected that Castiel's 'profound bond' with him was something a little more than simple friendship. He'd accepted the angel into the small group of individuals he considered family, which was really fucking saying something about how much Dean liked the guy.

The thing that he had trouble grasping, however, was that he wasn't gay. He never _had _been, nor had ever _thought _about the possibility he _might _be gay. Dean Winchester had always been a ladies' man, a player and a charmer. He'd never even considered another dude before (except for maybe Brad Pitt, or Dr. Sexy, but that was a totally different issue. Didn't count. There's a difference between manly admiration and fawning over some dude like a fifteen-year-old girl).

But then again... things had changed between them during their time in Purgatory, hadn't they? Now that Dean thought about it, they really had. He wouldn't have called it love, or really identify it as any sort of attraction, per say, but there was ... something. Some shift in the way he thought about Cas, the need to reconnect with him at all costs, cutting a path through the desolate forests of Monster Hell to get to his angel and even allying himself with a freaking vampire to accomplish that goal.

When Cas had beat him down while he was under Naomi's control, he had told the angel that he _needed _him. He had played the scene out in his head a hundred times since then and it did funny things to him. Not like _that_, ugh. Just... he realised that he had meant it when he'd said it, and the fact that it had impacted the angel enough to make him falter, to break the hold that bitch had on him, it really said something to Dean.

"This is crazy," Charlie said once they had finished swapping stories, "like, Slaughterhouse Five crazy. You think that not-a-Djinn sent you here? Why? And what happened to, you know, _current _you?"

"Dunno," Dean admitted, feeling numb from the overload of information. "Everyone else she hit woke up after a couple of days, though, so I'm thinking this is temporary?"

He looked to Cas, but the fallen angel seemed deep in thought, not paying attention to the conversation.

"Cas?" Dean prodded, nudging him with his foot.

Castiel's eyes shot open, staring at Dean like a deer caught in headlights before taking a steadying breath.

"I was thinking," he said finally, looking down at his hands, "of what it could have been that you and your brother encountered. I don't remember you telling me of this hunt... of this creature. It's possible that already, something in your timeline has been changed, altered so that the outcome was different. Something like this, I believe you would have mentioned it."

"I don't always talk about shit, Cas," Dean murmured. Like Zachariah sending him on a sight-seeing adventure to the Apocalypse in 2009.

Castiel gave him another one of his sad, private little smiles in response. God, that was infuriating, even if it was nice to see the angel expressing genuine emotion.

"Based on your description of the entity," he continued, "I believe you may have encountered a Naga Priestess. They used to be common in Indonesia and the Middle East, centuries ago. There are still a few that linger, wandering in small numbers. They are generally harmless unless provoked..."

"Oh, great," Dean huffed, "good to know after the fact."

"So it sounds like you just have to camp for a couple of days and you should zap back where you were," Charlie summarized, putting together what both he and Cas had inferred in their assumptions.

Castiel nodded, giving Dean a thoughtful look.

"Well," Charlie said, smiling brightly as she stood, "I should get going. Dean, when you get back, no matter what happens, you better not miss AdventureCon in February. And you better bring Cas, too. Trust me."

With a smile and a conspiratorial wink, Charlie excused herself, leaving Dean alone with the fallen angel his future self had apparently hooked up with.

Dean let out a shaky breath, looking anywhere but at his friend. Now what? How was he going to survive the next few days, constantly under the weight of Castiel's eyes, knowing that the fallen angel saw him differently now than he did a year ago? And how was he supposed to cope with knowing that their friendship had changed into something more? He acknowledged that the potential had been there for a while, but still - it was too much for his manly-man head to wrap around.

"Dean," Cas said, fidgeting with his hands again, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Dean huffed out a quiet laugh, taking a sip of his now-warm beer. "It's fine, Cas. I'm just a little out of my depth here. I crashed into your life, so it's cool. I can uh... I'll crash on the couch or something until things sort themselves out, okay?"

Dean wanted to kick himself at the heartbroken look the suggestion earned him, however fleeting it was. What an ass, Winchester. He had been all Castiel knew of the human experience, his centre in a world where entire dimensions had been ripped away from the once multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent. After losing Sam and Cas losing Heaven and his Grace, they had likely grown more dependant on each other than Dean and Sam had ever been.

"If you like," Cas agreed hesitantly, "or I can. It is fairly comfortable, I wouldn't mind."

Dean couldn't help but laugh at this. "Do you ever stop sacrificing yourself for me?"

Cas gave him another one of those minute, shy smiles that he was quickly beginning to love. "No," he admitted, staring down at his hands, "and I never will."

"Look," Dean sighed, running his fingers over the soft bristle of hair at the back of his head, "I don't really know what to make of all this. I'm still not entirely convinced that I'm not just having some kind of monster-induced dream or some crap, but I guess it does raise a few questions even if this is all in my head."

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, waiting quietly for Dean to elaborate.

The hunter cleared his throat, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Like, I mean, even Djinn can't just, uh, invent stuff, right? I mean, all this has to be in there somewhere if I'm just making it up. You, and me, I mean... I never even really thought about, y'know, us being, uh, _us_.

"And Sam... God, I can't..." Dean leaned forward, putting his face in his hands. It was hitting home, suddenly. Sammy being so sick from the trials. He knew that it was a possibility, that he might lose Sam after the trials were all finished, but he was too pig-headed and stubborn to acknowledge it. He buried it, ignoring the notion whenever it was brought up because, he _couldn't _lose Sam. He refused to even _conceive _of it.

He was surprised to feel a warm, gentle hand on his shoulder, a gesture of comfort that seemed so alien from the angel he knew - the awkward and socially handicapped angel with his bizarre analogies and mixed metaphors and his blunt, formal way of speaking.

Dean surprised himself by putting his hand over Castiel's, gently squeezing long, slender fingers and kind of liking the way that felt.

Clearing his throat, he pulled away from his angel (he hoped not _too _abruptly... this was awkward enough as it was) and turned to regard him, contemplating Cas the human, the former angel that hadn't turned into a drug addicted lascivious hippie.

"So," he said, breaking the weird silence that had stretched between them, "what does Future-Cas do? I mean, I figure I must have a job or something... but what about you?"

Cas smiled, something in his eyes softening at the change of pace.

"I have a job," he said proudly, seeming to search Dean for approval. "At a pet store. I care for the birds and, sometimes, the cats and dogs. It is a compromise."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Compromise?"

"You are allergic to animal dander, cats in particular," Cas explained as though Dean was unaware of this. "I've found myself rather fond of cats, so I find that my work is a compromise. Birds are enjoyable as well, though they are quite... noisy."

Dean laughed outright at this, because it was just so Cas. He found himself endeared even more to his friend, and proud that the angel had really seemed to find his place in this world. It was heartening to know that Cas was capable of surviving the loss of his Grace, though he supposed the angel had more experience this time around, not to mention it seemed like Dean didn't have his head wedged up his ass this time, and the fact that the Apocalypse wasn't exactly an issue here, either.

"That where you were this morning, then?" Dean wondered aloud, genuinely curious about the day-to-day life of the fallen angel.

"No," Cas said with a faint flush to his cheeks that knocked Dean for a loop, "I attend a small, liberal congregation on Sundays. I have... offered to bring you as well, but you have always declined, aside from the occasional non-sermon gathering."

"The picture on the shelf," Dean said, "with the barbecue, that was at your, uh, church?"

Castiel nodded. "It's not that I..." he trailed off, seeming to search for the words to continue his thoughts, "I find that it helps to ground me, to remind me who I was in contrast with who I have become. Honestly, it is sometimes amusing to see how scripture has been re-interpreted over the centuries."

Dean felt himself grin at Castiel's frankness. He hadn't imagined the fallen angel putting much stock in churches and preachers after finding out that his Father had turned his back, the Apocalypse and everything else, but he now found himself admiring that Cas stuck with his roots, not letting go of himself despite losing everything, and still managing to keep himself balanced.

The hunter frowned, remembering what he had found in his search for answers when he'd woken up earlier in the afternoon.

"Cas," he said, trying to moderate his tone so that he didn't come off as accusatory, "I uh, I kinda poked around earlier, you know, before I knew what was going on. Uh, in the bathroom... those prescriptions you had under Jimmy's name..."

Castiel's expression turned somber, maybe even a little embarrassed. "Yes. I had no identity after I fell, and for some time you were... inconsolable. I had no other form of identification other than what was in Jimmy Novak's wallet. In retrospect, I wish I had more foresight; my use of his identity did not go unnoticed by authorities."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

Cas smiled, giving a humourless chuckle. "Word of my activities reached Jimmy's family, and Amelia contacted me, shortly after we moved here. She doesn't like me very much, but... I suppose we made a sort of peace with each other."

"So I guess to everyone but me and Charlie, you're Jimmy Novak, huh?"

Castiel nodded, seeming thoroughly embarrassed. "I retain the moniker 'Cas' amongst friends and coworkers. As for the medications..." the fallen angel glanced up without moving his head, and Dean assumed his future self must have had a conversation with him at some point about the other 2014, because he could swear that Cas looked almost ashamed, "I experienced frequent 'panic attacks' after the loss of my Grace. I suppose in my own way I was just as inconsolable as you were. I had lost everything and I was... self-destructing."

Dean nodded, understanding completely. Only, Dean had been there to catch him this time, rather than absorbed in his mission in a world that was ending.

"It was bad, for the first month," Cas continued, picking at his fingernails as though they were the most fascinating things in the world, "but you helped. You, uh, 'talked me down from the bridge'."

"You mean that figuratively, right?" Dean frowned, concerned by the choice of phrase.

Castiel gave him a guilty look, and Dean knew he'd meant it literally. Fuck.

"We're even now," he evaded with a mysterious smirk. "We've saved each other from Perdition. I would not have survived in this new life without you, of that much I am certain. You told me of what Zachariah showed you, of the future before you and Sam stopped Lucifer. I believe it was true, all of it. But you stopped me from destroying myself."

"That's... that's good," Dean managed. What was he supposed to say to that?

Maybe it couldn't be helped, but they'd fallen into an awkward silence after that, neither quite meeting the eyes of the other. Dean had a million thoughts flying through his head at super-sonic speed, fighting to be on the dominant wavelength.

It was getting late, and eventually Castiel went to bed after Dean insisted adamantly that he'd be fine on the couch. He tried not to notice the slightly crestfallen look on the former angel's face as he trudged off to the bedroom alone, having set Dean up with a pillow and an extra blanket from the closet for his night on the sofa.

Dean tried to watch television for a while, feeling exausted but wired at the same time. The thought that whether this was a dream or some bizarre future vision there was some truth to what he was seeing bothered him to a degree. He felt something stir that he hadn't known existed within himself until now, something warm and comfortable and decidedly directed toward his best friend.

It was confusing, but a large part of him wanted to just roll with it. This was a dream, or a future that was still merely one of a hundred possibilities. The players in this pseudo-reality didn't seem to mind where he'd ended up, and judging from the evidence, it was probably one of the best futures he could hope for.

He turned off the television, shifting onto his back and staring up at the dark ceiling, unable to rest his thoughts and sleep.

_No one's going to judge you, Dean, _Head-Sam provided, adding fuel to the fire already building up within him, _why not explore this? I know you're thinking about it._

"Ugh, shut up, Samantha," Dean griped, covering his face with his hands. "And get out of my freaking head."

He sighed, dropping his hands to lay clasped over his stomach. Head-Sam was right, though; he was thinking about it. Thinking about what it would be like to quietly sneak into the room that Cas and his future self shared, to slip beneath the cool sheets and wrap his arms around his angel and hold him close, breathing him in.

The thoughts wouldn't relent, however, and for an indeterminate amount of time Dean just laid there with his eyes closed, wondering 'what if...' and 'how would...' and 'if I...' until, finally, it became too much temptation to ignore. Head-Sam did have a point; there would be no consequences here, no judgement to fear for simply trying, testing his comfort level as it were.

Curiosity is a bitch.

Besides, he was restless. Cas lied about the couch being comfortable.

With a long-suffering sigh, he rolled upright, padding across the soft carpet to the bedroom door. Cas had left it open a crack, and Dean pushed it open quietly, trying not to disturb the sleeping angel.

Faint moonlight seeped in through the window, revealing just enough of the room to navigate by. He stood and watched Cas sleep for a moment, transfixed by how different he looked relaxed in slumber. He thought briefly that he should probably feel creepy standing over his friend's bed, but how many times had Cas done the same to him, looming over Dean waiting for him to wake up?

Dean smiled to himself and gave in because, why the hell not? Cas was curled up on the edge of the bed closest to the window, leaving plenty of room for Dean to pull the covers back and slip up behind him, tentatively draping an arm around the other man's waist.

It was comfortable - surprisingly so, and oddly he didn't feel the slightest bit weird spooning against Castiel's back, the former angel's messy, dark brown hair tickling his nose and smelling faintly of Axe Phoenix.

Cas stirred, tensing at the contact, and Dean wondered belatedly if maybe this wasn't kind of a stupid idea.

"Dean?" the angel asked quietly, his voice thick with sleep.

"Hey," Dean murmured back, "I uh, I couldn't sleep."

More shifting, and Dean found himself face to face with Castiel in the dark, the phantom light casting his face into shadow, though his eyes seemed to radiate with it.

"Is... this okay?" Dean asked awkwardly, wondering if he should give his friend a bit more space.

"Yeah, it's fine," came the certain if a bit puzzled reply, and Dean felt himself relax a bit.

For a long time, they simply lay there facing each other, neither batting an eye or knowing what to say to the other.

_You're still thinking about it, aren't you?_

Dean sighed, biting back a response because, yeah. He was thinking about it.

He was thinking about it right up until he felt his lips against something warm and pliant and heard the soft gasp of surprise from the fallen angel beside him in the bed, and then he wasn't thinking of anything beyond the fact that it _felt awesome_.

So maybe Dean wasn't _gay_, and maybe he'd never even thought about kissing another dude before, but here he was, kissing Cas, his best friend who was once an angel, who was still _his _angel, and who was kissing him back with enthusiastic fervor. As his angel rolled over so that he was straddling Dean's hips, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could make an exception here.

* * *

**(A/N:** So, this fic is based on a dream I had the other night (yes, I dream in Destiel. Don't hold it against me - or do, ;) There's one more part which picks up a little bit before the Great Escapist and continues through the finale, which is almost complete. I was going to post it all as one piece, but it got so freaking huge I decided to break it into two parts.

Other notes: The title of this fic is from the Oingo Boingo song of the same name (which I happened to be listening to whilst watching Supernatural in the background before bed, which probably contributed to the ship dream setting sail).

Anyway, I might post part two later today, or I might wait until tomorrow. Don't forget to review and let me know what you think :)  
This is totally unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine and you can't have them! Unless Heaven's Eagle reads this and wants to pick the nits out of it, then she can have them. )


	2. When We Wake From Dreams

When Dean awoke, he immediately missed the warm presence beside him, noticing that the surface he was laying on was cold and rock hard and something nearby was giving off an irritating periodic beep. Prying his eyes open, he was greeted by the familiar, unwelcome sight of a hospital room, sterile white walls and perforated ceiling, tacky yellow curtain separating him from the next bed over. There was an IV in his arm, but at least he wasn't hooked up to any of the heavy stuff, and there weren't any tubes where tubes should never go. Aside from an aching in his shoulder, he didn't feel like he was in agonizing pain or anything, so he figured he must be generally okay.

His head felt a little fuzzy, but he remembered everything about the dream, smiling fondly at the memory of what had happened just before waking up (which was kind of a weird perspective, considering he felt like he had just closed his eyes). _That _had been _awesome._ Weird, totally outside the realm of his comfort zone, but awesome. He almost resented having to come back to the real world, being thrust back into the middle of the trials, having to see his brother sick again...

Sam.

Dean felt his heart skip a beat, looking around frantically for only a second before he saw him; sleeping upright in an uncomfortable, yellow plastic chair, his arm leaning against the sink counter with his face buried in the crook of his elbow was his gargantuan little brother, wrapped in a thin hospital blanket.

"Hey," Dean croaked, his throat parched and sore from the combination of disuse and dry hospital air.

Sam grunted and jerked upright, disoriented for a moment before focusing on his brother. "H-hey, you okay?"

Dean smiled as his younger sibling wiped at his eyes and rubbed the drool off his chin, looking like a little kid woken from a nap.

"Yeah, I think so," Dean responded, coughing to clear his throat, "did you gank her?"

Sam shook his head wearily. "No, she got away after she got you. I uh, I don't think it was a Djinn. I did some more research while you were out, and I think it was a Naga."

Dean frowned, remembering that Cas had said more or less the same in the maybe-the-future-and-maybe-not-so-much dream.

"How long was I out?"

"Not long, maybe..." Sam checked his watch, squinting sleepily at the digital display, "twenty-ish hours?"

Dean nodded, pushing himself up and rubbing his sore shoulder, finding it taped over with gauze. It lined up with what he remembered from his 'dream', for whatever that was worth. It had been early afternoon when he'd first woken in the 'dream', and mid-morning by the time he and Cas had finally drifted off, followed by Dean waking up here in the hospital.

"Great," he sighed, pulling the IV out of his arm and dropping off the bed to his feet, a little unsteady but otherwise managing, "let's get the hell out of here. I'm starving. Also, we gotta talk."

Sam gave him a puzzled bitchface, but didn't argue, getting Dean's clothes from the bag he'd brought in and letting Dean get dressed before they both made their quiet exit from the hospital before anyone could ask them any questions.

* * *

Dean continued to shove fries in his face as Sam stared at him, speechless. Dean had told him everything about his pseudo-prophetic dream (but left out the small detail about how future Dean was banging future Cas). He'd explained how Cas had told him Sam died completing the third trial, trying to cure Crowley.

"That's," Sam started, scrutinizing his older brother with his eyes, "that's crazy, Dean! Cure a demon? I mean, that can't even be possible! And besides, even if it _was_, so _what?_ I'm going to finish the trials. You had a dream, that's all. A really bizarre, detailed dream. I mean, you're not really expecting to throw away everything we've done here just because you _hallucinated _that it was gonna go South on us?"

"I'm not so sure it was a hallucination," Dean explained around a mouthful of bread and ground beef, "you said what we thought was a Djinn was actually a Naga, right? Cas said the same thing in my dream."

"Are you sure?" Sam pressed, giving his brother a skeptical eye, "your mind could just be remembering it that way now because you want to _believe _it was real."

"That's bullshit," Dean countered, "I remember it like I remember driving to Wamego. I spent a whole day there, Sam. I remember waking up there alone, I remember searching the place, Cas coming home from church, Charlie dropping by... I remember little details, photographs, the colour of the walls, and we had these butt-ugly green glasses with the bumps on the outside and like this diamond pattern around the top..."

Sam shook his head, still giving Dean a look of total disbelief. "Dean, look. Even if it was real, and that's still up for debate, but if it was? I _am _doing this. I have to. We've made it too far now to back down, I'm closing the gates of Hell, even if it _does _kill me."

The elder Winchester sighed, pushing his mostly empty plate away and clasping his hands in front of him on the table, locking eyes with the younger.

"Sammy," he said, pausing to find the words he wanted to say, "look. I know I've sorta got proof I can do this without you, but man - I _really _don't want to. We'll research it, okay? We'll call Kevin, let him know what we know, he can confirm it on the tablet and maybe we can look for a way to do this that _doesn't_ end with you dying."

Sam stayed reticent for a long while, staring out the window into the parking lot of the diner. Not for the first time, Dean wished he had the power to see what his brother was thinking. Sam was tired, Dean could see that much. Hell, Dean was tired, too. They'd both spent pretty much their entire lives doing this, anonymously sacrificing every shred of normalcy and happiness they might have had for the sake of the rest of the world.

Finally, Sam let out a long sigh, nodding his head. "Yeah, all right, Dean. We'll look into it. But... but if we can't find a way, I'm still doing it anyway, and I want you to let me."

Steely hazel eyes held Dean's, unwavering and intense. Dean sighed and nodded.

"All right, little brother," he submitted, "all right. We look into it, talk to Kevin. If we can, we do this without killing you. If we can't figure it out..."

"We close the gates anyway," Sam reaffirmed.

"Right," Dean murmured begrudgingly, not agreeing in the slightest.

* * *

Back at the bunker, Dean continued to pray to Castiel, needing to speak to him about what he'd seen, terrified that it might already be too late. Head-Sam (when the hell did Sam become a regular guest-star in his head, anyway?) reminded him that in the future-dream thing, Cas had come to them before Metatron had gotten his hooks in the angel, but Dean hoped he might be able to head off this track before his angel got hurt.

"Cas," he sighed, frustrated, sitting on the edge of his bed, "look, man. I'm pretty sure you can hear me. I know you're moving around a lot, and I know you can't really stop. I get it, okay? I know it's not that you don't, uh, _trust _me... I get that now. I know you're just trying to keep us safe, and keep the tablet safe, too. But... I really, _really _need to talk to you. You know my number man, if you can't drop in, at least, you know, gimme a call? Please, you have no idea how important this is, and uh, I really don't wanna take the chance that someone else might be listening..."

Dean waited, watching his phone hopefully as it sat on the night stand beside his bed, willing it to ring, willing it to be Cas.

It never did.

* * *

They'd been trying Kevin for two days straight after leaving the hospital in Wamego, and the kid still hadn't called them back. Dean was starting to worry that something might have happened, and on the the third day his fears were validated when they received an automated video mail informing them that something had happened and the prophet was likely dead.

"Everything's happening the way Cas said it would - the Naga, the trial, Kevin disappearing..." Dean said as he paced back and forth along the length of the war-room table, shooting his brother accusatory looks. They'd found the film reels in the bunker's store rooms, showing in detail the steps to curing a demon. It wasn't pretty, but it looked like they were going to be able to pull it off - now they just needed to get their hands on the King of Hell and figure out a way to cure him without killing Sam.

The aforementioned younger hunter sighed, slumping into his blanket in the chair and closing his eyes. "I called Garth yesterday, he said he was on the way back to Warsaw and he'd call us back when he got there."

"Not good enough, Sam," Dean bit back, "I _know _Crowley's got him, we need to figure out where he is and bust him out."

Sam opened his sunken, blood-shot eyes and glared impatiently up at his brother. "You said we found Metatron, and that Metatron rescued him."

"I'm not trusting that ass-hat, Sammy," Dean growled. "I told you what he did to Cas, to all the angels!"

"So we keep him on a leash, Dean!" Sam all but shouted, sending him into a fit of coughing that hit squarely on Dean's guilt button.

"Look," the younger man continued once he'd recovered, "from everything you've told me - if it's all true - it looks like we're gonna need this guy to get anywhere. Cas still isn't answering, right?"

Dean made it a point to let Sam know he was not looking at him, but said nothing to disagree with the statement. Not like it was any great secret, but he hadn't actually _told_ Sam he'd still been praying to Castiel this whole time, even after the angel had disappeared with the tablet.

"We need an edge here, Dean, and I get that we can't trust him - other than Cas I don't trust _any _of the angels, but we _need _Metatron. We need him to find Kevin, to finish the trials. If we can't find Metatron or Kevin and the tablet, I'm _going _to do it regardless."

Dean sighed, resigning to the ultimatum. He could try, but he wouldn't be able to keep Sam under lock and key forever; Sam was just as resourceful as he was, and twice as determined when he set his mind to something. His little brother was right, _again_, and the only way they were going to get through this was to tread a careful path along a very dangerous edge.

* * *

Dean was always impressed by how smart Sam was, even if he never outwardly said it. It was a source of pride that his little brother had managed to thrive at Stanford, despite the way they'd been raised. It was almost uncanny that Sam had managed to put together the scant clues from Kevin's notes and correlate them to what he knew of Native American lore and symbology (talk about freaking random) and track the rogue angel to a reservation town in the mountains.

At Sam's insistence, Dean kept his mouth shut when they finally confronted Metatron in a creepy, mostly empty hotel in the middle of nowhere, but made it a point to mentally flip the angel the bird every time Metatron glanced his way (_I hope you can feel this, because I'm doing it as hard as I can_).

Dean couldn't help but wonder how this cheeseball (who uncannily reminded him of an extra from Revenge of the Nerds) had managed to pull the fleece over Cas. He was jumpy, paranoid and possessing some old fat guy, completely not what the hunter had envisioned when he'd pictured the Scribe of God (he'd sorta half expected Alan Rickman).

To Dean's frustration, Sam had been right yet again; Metatron confirmed that the third trial was, indeed, to cure a demon. Even more infuriating, the angel had gone out of his way to retrieve Kevin Tran from Crowley's clutches, seemingly just in the knick of time, but ditched out on them like a pussy before they could ask him about getting through the trial in one piece.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean swore, kicking every inanimate object that dared crossed his path as they made their way out of the hotel and back to the car, "we were _that _close! What the hell did we do to the universe to make it hate us so freaking much?"

"We're not screwed yet," Kevin said, grinning from ear to ear, "we've still got the tablet. You jerks didn't really think I'd be stupid enough keep it with me, did you?"

Dean returned the prophet's slightly unhinged smile, and together the three of them went to retrieve the tablet from where Kevin had buried it for safe-keeping beneath a very ironic road sign.

* * *

The next road marker on their precarious path to the future Dean had witnessed came as Dean, Sam and Kevin were making their way back to the bunker from Warsaw.

Swerving to avoid the beige lump that had appeared abruptly in the road ahead of the Impala, Dean's heart leapt into his throat, thundering hard enough to make him worry about brain damage from the reverberations as they beat their way through his skull.

He knew this part; Cas had just escaped from Crowley and Naomi, he was hurt and defeated and had just lost the freaking angel tablet to the King of Hell. Suddenly, Dean was pissed.

He threw the driver's side door open, marching toward the wounded angel laying in the middle of the road, anger burning away any relief he might have felt in finding his angel. He _knew _Cas had heard his prayers - future Cas had told him as much. Current Cas had just chosen to ignore him despite everything he'd prayed to the fucker.

"Cas, what the fuck!?" Dean raged as he closed the distance, fists balling at his sides. "I've been calling you for _weeks_, you can't pick up a goddamn phone?"

Castiel turned impatient, surly eyes up at the hunter and grunted irritably. "A little help, here?"

Dean swore angrily, but bent down to help his friend up, bracing him as he walked him back to the Impala and deposited him into the back seat beside Kevin. The angel was covered in blood, his lips dotted with red, complexion pale and making the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more, his hair plastered to his forehead, damp with sweat. Dean wasn't sure if he'd ever seen the guy look any worse. He'd looked rough in Purgatory, had the whole Mountain Man thing going on with the scruffy beard and wild hair, but even then he hadn't looked quite so tired and beat down.

"You look like crap," Kevin observed.

"Thank you," Cas replied sarcastically.

Dean shoved down the pride he felt at his angel's casual snark. He was still pissed that Cas had blatantly ignored him, but a smile managed to sneak its way onto his face regardless.

* * *

Having Cas back was distracting, and Dean found himself fighting the urge to go and wake the angel and shove words in his ears.

As soon as they returned to the bunker, the angel had passed out in a spare room, dismissing Dean's offer to help with his wounds. Dean really wanted to discuss things with Castiel, to tell him about Metatron, about the spell to make the angels fall, and, more personally, about what he'd seen of the two of them in the future.

Dean was_ convinced_ that that his dream had been a glimpse of the future, now. Sam seemed inclined to put his faith in Dean's prophetic dream now, too. Everything Future-Cas had told him about what was happening now, and it was almost one-hundred percent accurate. He had already changed things, though - they'd recovered the demon tablet ahead of schedule and Kevin was already confirming what Dean had known and Metatron had said about the third trial, searching for a way around the part where the person performing the trials had to die at the end.

Dean, Sam and Kevin were seated at the map table the morning after they'd found Cas in the road, going over possibilities and ideas, looking for any loopholes in the trials or spells in the archives that might work to their advantage.

Sam remained as recalcitrant as ever, insisting that the gates were closing one way or another.

Dean tried to ignore this for the time being, enjoying his toaster waffles and bacon as he went over what he remembered from his dream.

"Good morning, Dean," greeted a hopeful, gravely voice from behind the hunter. "I uh, I like your bunker."

Dean turned to look at the angel over his shoulder, trying to maintain his scowl in the other man's presence. He wanted to be angry, to show Cas how pissed off he was, but he was too tired and too glad to see him again to keep the fire burning for long. Now was as good a time as any to say what he needed to say, he supposed. He stood, taking Cas by the arm and leading him into the kitchen where they'd have a little more privacy to talk.

Cas' eyes skittered uncomfortably around the room, looking anywhere other than directly at Dean. The hunter could see that Cas was embarrassed, ashamed of himself for ignoring Dean's prayers, but Dean wasn't having it, not over this.

"Why'd you ignore me, Cas," he asked, pinning the angel with his glare.

"I wasn't-" Castiel stammered, "I had to keep moving... I didn't-"

"Yeah, I know," Dean cut him off. "If I'd had time, I'd have driven up to the Biggerson's in Topeka and tackled you when you popped in. It'd have taken you like two minutes to pick up a goddamn phone and call me!"

Castiel's shoulders slumped as he stared down at his shoes. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean huffed. "You're always sorry. Well, sorry ain't gonna cut it this time, Cas."

Cas looked stung by this, but Dean needed to get his point across before it was too late. They were already on Metatron's radar, so everything hinged on getting through Cas' thick, feather-stuffed skull.

"I told you it was fucking _important, _Cas!" Dean said, his tone softening despite willing himself to hold onto his anger. Cas looked so much like a kicked puppy that he found his resolve wavering under the angel's watery, pouting gaze. He sighed, letting his concern take the driver's seat for a while as he raised his hand to brush his fingers lightly against his angel's face.

Castiel seemed startled by the gesture, confusion twisting his expression as he cocked his head curiously to the side, glancing between the hunter's hand and face. Dean cleared his throat and dropped his hand, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

The Naga's dream combined with a few of Dean's own, er, more creative daydreams had led him to imagine this going a little differently, but he supposed there was still a hell of a bridge between this Castiel and the Cas of the future. One step at a time, he reminded himself.

"Look," he sighed, starting over whilst keeping his hands to himself, "I told you I needed you, and I meant it, Cas. We're family... _more _than family. I wanna help you, man! I told you not to shut me out like this."

"Dean, it was not my intention to-"

"Gimme a chance to finish, please," Dean pleaded. "I know you were trying to protect us, okay? I get that. I just-"

"Dean!" Sam burst in before Dean could finish. "Dean. You were right - I just got a call from Crowley. It's Jody, sheriff Mills, he-"

Dean turned back to Castiel and gave him a poignant look, pointing his index finger at him. "Stay here, we're not done talking yet. Keep an eye on the kid."

He turned his back and followed after his brother, missing the crushed and desolate look on the angel's face, disappearing from the kitchen as Dean and Sam rushed out to deal with the King of Hell.

* * *

"You promised me you wouldn't do this, Sam!"

Dean was seething, pacing back and forth in front of the daïs in the shabby, run-down little church on the shores of Lake Clinton.

"I told you I would try," Sam corrected his brother calmly as he laid out the tools he would need to complete the purification ritual. "We've got Crowley, this is our chance! I'm not gonna let this slip out of our hands now, not when we're this close!"

"Hi," the demon in question drawled in his lilting Scottish accent, "right here, Moose. Crowley. King of Hell?"

"Shut up," the brothers turned toward the shackled demon and shouted in unison.

"What I'm trying to say is," Sam continued, "if we sit on this too long, we might lose our shot at this. I already told you, Dean, shutting down Hell is more important than finding a way around the trials, it's more important than us - more important than _me_!"

Dean clenched his jaw, trying desperately to remain stolid in the face of Sam's insidious puppy dog eyes, but he knew his brother was right. He didn't have to like it, and he'd keep arguing for the sake of arguing, but Sam was right about this being important. He tried to imagine what it would be like, letting Sam go, tried to picture how it would feel to stand by as Sam finished the third trial and sacrificed his life.

He couldn't.

"I'm gonna go get some more salt," Dean murmured, then left his brother and the complaining demon in the chapel and made his way out to the Impala parked out in front.

Things were moving too quickly into the future for Dean's liking, he was beginning to panic at how fast they were approaching the end, frustrated that he still hadn't said what he'd needed to say to Cas. It had already been almost twelve hours since they'd received the call from Crowley, threatening their old friend from Sioux Falls. Dean had begun to worry about Cas and Kevin back at the bunker, desperate to continue his conversation with Cas before it was too late. Already they were moving into the realm of no return, and from what he'd learned in his dream, Cas had done the 'angel trials' pretty much at the same time he and Sam were working on the third demon trial.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed Kevin's number and waited, the young prophet picking up on the fourth ring.

"I don't have it yet," Kevin greeted blandly, a hint of frustration in his tone.

"No," Dean sighed, "I didn't figure. Hey, can you put Cas on for a minute? I need to talk to him."

"Cas?" the prophet puzzled back. "I haven't seen Cas since you guys left."

"What!?" Dean yelled into the receiver, gripping the phone so tight that a hairline fracture danced across the screen. "What do you mean you haven't seen him? Fuck!"

Dean didn't even wait for a response, throwing his phone across the overgrown lot, pulling at his hair with a growl of frustration.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, bearing his teeth at the sky, "Damn it, Cas, if you can still hear me, I need you to get your feathery ass down here now, man... I need to talk to you!"

"Dean."

The hunter whirled at the sound of his name, coming face to face with the angel. Cas looked more harried and disheveled than usual; shoulders slumped, hair a mess, trench coat wrinkled and looking desperate and exhausted.

Dean sighed, flexing his fingers and taking a moment to breathe before addressing the angel, but Cas spoke first.

"Dean, I need your help," he said hurriedly, taking a step closer to the hunter. "Naomi.. she took Metatron - we were attempting to complete the trials to close Heaven's gates. I need to-"

The rage returned full force. "You've been talking to Metatron!?"

Castiel frowned, a confused expression taking place of the desperation. "Yes, that's why-"

"Damn it, Cas! That's what I've been trying to talk to you about! Metatron is _using _you! You've gotta stop, man - this isn't gonna end well!"

Castiel frowned, squaring up his shoulders. "Dean. I understand. I don't want to leave without resolving things between us, either, but this is for the be-"

"You dumb son of a bitch," Dean swore, getting into Castiel's face, giving him a firm shove with both hands, "why don't you ever listen to me? Why can't you just _trust _me for once?"

"I'm sorry," Castiel said sympathetically, "I _do _trust you, but I have to do this. I had hoped you would help me. Once the gates are closed, I will not be able to return. I suppose... this is good-bye, Dean. Thank you for everything."

"Cas, wait, I-" Dean tried, desperately reaching out to grab the angel's arm before he disappeared, but it was too late - Cas had already winged out.

"Fuck."

* * *

Hours ticked by.

Dean tried and tried to reach Castiel again, praying to the angel with the details of what he knew of Metatron's plan and even going so far as to try and reach the one or two other angels he had come to think of as sort-of-friendly over the years in an effort to keep his friend from destroying his home. No one was answering. Or maybe it was already too late.

Unable to watch his brother deteriorate as the ritual dragged on and on, Dean removed himself to the front lot, resting back against the hood of the car. Pretty soon, this car and the bunker would be all he had left of his home. He had no doubt he'd see Cas again, one way or another, but it didn't look like he was going to be able to save Heaven, or his brother. It went without saying, he was feeling pretty fucking useless.

Just as he felt the last threads of optimism fray and break away, his phone began to ring somewhere in the tall grass beyond the Impala.

Dean scrambled for it, digging through the tangled brush until he found it. The screen was black from where the LCD had burst on impact, but it was still receiving the call from... whoever was calling him.

"Hello?"

"Dean," Kevin's voice rang through the line, sounding excited. Dean's spirits lifted, hope fluttering through his chest once more.

"Kevin, thank God. Please tell me you have good news..."

"I think so," Kevin confirmed, "There's a passage on the tablet pertaining to binding a soul in place. It's listed directly after the third trial, so I think it might be what you're looking for. It's in Enochian, kinda hard to pronounce, but uh, you got a pen handy?"

"Yeah," Dean grinned, running back toward the car, "yeah just gimme a sec."

Things were finally starting to look up.

* * *

Enochian sucks.

Dean made it a point to make this observation to his brother multiple times as Kevin walked him through the spell that might be their only chance at getting Sam through the trials alive. There were so many twists and turns, weird rolls of the tongue that Dean was fairly sure weren't intended for human mouths to accommodate.

_This shit is Cas' native language, _he thought, amused at the idea. He'd heard his angel speak it a few times before, like that time in the hick town with the Whore, but he still had trouble thinking of it as an actual _language_.

The eighth hour was rapidly approaching, and Dean finally felt like he had a handle on things with the incantation. It required a sacrifice of human blood in a brass bowl over an assortment of herbs that were, coincidentally, almost identical to the stuff they kept in the trunk on the off-chance they ever needed a demon-summoning ritual.

Dean supposed it was probably best not to look a gift horse in the mouth when you were at the end of your rope.

"You really sure about this, Sam?" Dean asked as he mixed the ingredients for the spell into the bowl on the dais, watching as his brother drew the final vial of blood from his arm. Crowley had been quiet over the last hour; it was disturbing as hell, watching the King of Hell fall apart under all the guilt he'd built up on his tab over however long the fucker'd been alive, begging for forgiveness and outright sobbing. At best, Dean saw Crowley as an annoying little prick, the enemy they kept close when it was to their advantage. He knew better to under-estimate the demon, but seeing him break over the course of the ritual, desperate for absolution, it made Dean taste bile on the back of his tongue.

Sam glanced up, looking more haggard than Dean had ever seen him. The last few hours had been the worst, seeming to sap the last shreds of his brother's vitality with each infusion until he resembled a walking corpse. He tried not to let his hopes get too high, but he was putting everything he had into praying this spell Kevin had found actually worked.

Dean kept trying to reach Cas, even convincing Kevin to try praying to the angel, but despite the desire to throw his hands in the air and start screaming out his frustration until he passed out, Sam needed him, too.

So, as the clock ticked the last few seconds, both hunters steeled themselves, readying for the worst and hoping for the best.

Dean nodded, lighting the candles placed on either side of the bowl and flattening out the piece of note paper he'd written the incantation on. The words still felt clumsy on his tongue, but he could feel the energy building up within the room as he spoke the alien syllables, placing the lock of hair he'd clipped from Sam's shaggy mop on top of the colourful powders in the bowl. The incantation wasn't exactly short, either, and Dean was only about halfway through it when Sam stuck the syringe into the side of Crowley's neck.

He struck a match as he continued, watching as Sam drew his pocket knife across the palm of his hand, waiting for the agreed-upon signal as the blood pooled in his hand. Dean dropped the match into the bowl and the concoction flared up, a deep purple hue tinting the flames.

Sam nodded, the strangest combination of fear and hope in his eyes as he clapped his bloodied hand over the King of Hell's mouth. Dean took up the silver blade in front of him, cutting his own palm and letting his blood drip into the fire.

The instant Sam's hand made the connection and Dean's own blood ignited, Dean felt something cold tug sharply at his insides, his voice nearly failing him as he the air was sucked out of him. He saw the flash of light emit from the former demon, signalling the end of the purification ritual, and nearly screamed as Sam dropped.

Fighting the urge to run to his brother's side, he continued the words of the spell, choking down his fear and fighting to remain conscious as the edges of his vision began to gray and fade. His bones felt like they were on fire, pumping acid through his veins, a rabid badger fighting to claw its way out of his skull.

_If this kills me and you make it through, Sammy, you better damn well take care of Cas,_ he thought furiously, chuckling internally at the irony of it all. This may or may not keep Sam alive, but from the looks of things, Dean was going to die trying to save his brother. So much for knowing the future, huh?

He barely managed to rasp out the final words of the spell before the world fell away, and everything faded to black.

* * *

Consciousness came to him gradually, a slow dance to the tune of the war drums marching through his head. Every inch of him felt thick, pulled taught, like crawling out of his own grave all over again. Thought seemed foreign at first, bubbling up from the depths of his mind like swamp emissions, stagnant and murky.

"Dean?" a familiar voice crawled weakly toward him across the dusty, debris-littered floorboards of the church, settling over him like a shroud of cold comfort.

He coughed, took a shuddering breath as he felt a pair of hands grip him and raise him upright through the darkness. He was woozy, and he was pretty sure he'd puked at some point.

That's when he felt the first impact, like a mortar shell hitting the Earth somewhere not far from the church.

Recollection flooded Dean with awareness, locking eyes with his hell-worn - but very much _alive _- younger brother.

"Sammy," he slurred, fighting to get to his feet, "Sam... what-"

"I dunno," the younger hunter returned, looking every bit as freaked out as Dean now felt, "it just started a few minutes ago..."

"Cas," Dean's mind insisted urgently, "fuck, CASTIEL!"

Adrenaline surged, propelling him upright as he launched himself at the church door, dreading the notion that was welling up that where he'd succeeded in saving his brother's life, he'd failed in saving his angel.

He wrenched the door open, staggering through it and all but falling down the stairs, Sam at his heel as he caught sight of the blackened sky overhead; hundreds, thousands of meteors were streaking across the sky, brilliant balls of fire on a direct collision course with the ground. To the casual observer, it would have been beautiful, breathtaking - but to Dean, it was the most tragic thing he had ever witnessed.

"What," Sam breathed, flummoxed, "is that-"

"Angels," Dean confirmed, choking back the heartbreak that he had failed Cas yet again, "they're falling. All of them."

They stood in stunned silence, watching the angels fall, surrounded by the fires of their burning Grace.

"Sam, stay here. I gotta find Cas."

"Dean," Sam grabbed his shoulder, stilling his older brother, "dude, you can barely walk..."

Dean shrugged him off and made his way toward the lake despite his brother's admonition, determined to find his angel.

He hadn't made it far before he began to question the logic of his ambition, but he kept going regardless of the fact that his bones felt more or less like they'd been ground to powder and glued back together with hot bacon grease. The longer he kept going the worse he felt, and he wondered briefly what exactly Kevin's spell had done to him - not that it really mattered, considering Sam was still breathing. Sam breathing was a very, very good thing.

It took forever, but about two miles around the lake he finally saw what he was looking for, both relieved and distraught as he caught sight of the figure walking toward him around the lake shore.

Cas looked nearly catatonic with grief, trench coat disheveled and covered in blood and dirt, dried leaves and bits if detritus clinging to his more-tousled-than-usual hair. He stopped when he saw Dean, only a few yards away - almost close enough to touch - but he only stared at the hunter, fingers flexing at his sides, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as though deciding whether to stay or run away.

"Cas," Dean breathed, his throat constricting tight around the single syllable.

Castiel's face caved in on itself as the fallen angel shattered under the weight of his guilt, a dry, broken sob bursting from his chest as he dropped to his knees on the muddy shore.

"I'm sorry, Dean!" he cried, and Dean's heart broke in two at the sight of his friend brought so low, "I'm so sorry!"

Dean sighed, moving to stand in front of his friend and knelt down, drawing his angel into his arms.

Castiel flinched at the contact, but Dean refused to let go and eventually the angel relented, burying himself in the hunter's chest. Dean stroked his hair, occasionally murmuring some comforting bullshit words into his ear as he wept over the loss of his home, his family, his identity, for not listening to the one person he'd given his trust to.

"Shh," Dean murmured, as Cas finally began to quiet, "you're okay. I've got you, Cas... you're gonna be okay..."

* * *

Dean did mention that Sam was the smart one, right?

Maybe ten minutes after Dean found Castiel wandering along the edge of the lake, he heard the familiar low rumble of the Impala's 325 horses amble across the beach towards them. He was still holding onto his angel, who had quieted some but refused to let go of him, hands fisted in his shirt as though Dean were the only thing keeping him from sinking through the crust of the Earth and into Hell.

The falling angels were becoming less and less frequent, and Dean did all he could to shield Castiel with his arms each time fire streaked across the sky, pulling him back in against every time the angel tried to look up, to see which direction the impact had come from. He was grateful to Sam, who stayed in the car, cutting the engine and waited for his brother and the angel until they were ready to get up and go. There was no rush, after all - Hell was closed. There weren't going to be any demons coming after them now.

Dean wasn't sure how long it actually took before the skies cleared and the thunder died away, but his ass was freezing from sitting on the cold, wet ground, and his knees were beginning to hurt from being at an awkward angle for so long.

"Cas, hey," he urged softly, gently pushing the angel back a few inches by his shoulders, ducking his head to try to find a hint of blue eyes beneath the mess of brown hair and crackling emotion. He smiled a smile he didn't really feel when he saw the dull, vacant blue orbs meet his gaze; he looked shell-shocked, and more than a little checked out at the moment.

Dean took a deep breath to steady himself. "Hey. We have to get moving, 'kay? Let's go home, Cas."

Castiel frowned, and Dean found himself brushing his fingers through his angel's hair, combing out the leaves and other bits of debris, brushing away the few stray tears that rolled down his cheek with the pad of his thumb. For a moment, Dean thought he might start sobbing again, his shoulders hitching as his eyes watered, lips pulled inward and brow furrowed.

"I _can't_ go home_, _Dean," he growled softly, "I no longer _have _a home... I-"

"Shh," Dean interjected, "that's bullshit, Cas. Of course you still have a home. You've _always _had a home with me and Sammy."

At that, Castiel did begin to cry again, bowing his head. He didn't make a sound, but Dean could see the tell-tale shuddering beneath the too-large trench coat. He sighed, wrapping his arms around the angel again and pressing his lips against Castiel's thick, coarse hair. He didn't know if it had been the right thing to say, but it wasn't any less true.

* * *

The sun floated above the horizon by the time they finally made it to the highway, painting the tarmac in gold and orange through the pink clouds that dotted the morning sky.

Dean felt like crap, and for the first time in months it seemed like Sam was the better off of the two of them, so he was more than content to let his little brother take the wheel to get them home. He still didn't seem one-hundred percent, but his eyes had lost the dull full haze that had clouded them since the second trial, and already his colour had significantly improved.

When asked what had become of Crowley after he had completed the purification ritual, Sam explained that the former King of Hell refused to leave the chapel, locking himself into one of the confessionals to pray, beginning a self-ascribed never-ending quest for forgiveness.

Dean almost felt bad leaving him behind, but then he remembered all the shit the former demon had put them through and decided that leaving him alive was more than the bastard deserved to begin with.

They were all tired. Dean had crawled into the back seat with Castiel once he'd finally pulled him up off the ground, but the newly fallen angel refused to give up his grip on the hunter, clinging like a scared little kid.

He hadn't said a word the entire trip, falling asleep at some point between Lake Clinton and Lebanon, wedged under Dean's arm with his face buried in the lapel of the hunter's jacket. Dean scowled in defiance every time his brother shot him a questioning look in the rear-view mirror, outright glaring when he caught Sam smirking at the sight of his brother and the fallen angel wrapped around each other in the back seat.

* * *

It had been almost a week since Cas had left his room voluntarily, and even involuntarily, it was only Dean who could manage to coax him out to shower or, on one occasion, eat at the table with them.

It seemed like Cas was going through the motions; he ate, showered and slept the amount prescribed by his human friends, but did little else besides.

He hadn't spoken more than a dozen words since the Winchesters had brought him back to the bunker, and Dean could see that he was heading down a dark, dangerous path. A path that led to bridges and sharp objects and drugs and alcohol and lascivity.

_You 'talked me down from the bridge'._

Dean sighed, tapping his pen against the base of the lamp on his desk. Dean had considered from the start having Cas stay in his room, keep him close, and not solely for the purpose of being close to the angel. He had ended up deciding on putting his friend in the room adjacent to his own, where Cas might be able to find some peace to sort through his guilt, close enough that Dean could be at his side in an instant if he was needed, or that if Castiel decided to come to Dean, he wouldn't have to go far.

It was hard, watching his closest living friend spiral into such a deep depression. For the first few days, he, Sam and Kevin would take shifts keeping an eye on Castiel. Mostly, it was Dean staying up as long as he could, sitting with Cas, or just sitting in his own bed across the hall with his door open, pretending to read while he kept his eyes focused intently on Castiel's door, trying to devise a way to keep the fallen angel from detonating on himself.

The worst was dealing with the panic attacks. Cas hadn't been kidding when he'd told Dean it had been bad.

The first had struck him the day they'd brought him back to the bunker. Dean had tasked Kevin with cleaning out the spare room for the angel while Dean stayed with him on one of the sofas in the library. Dean had just been sitting with him quietly and asked if Cas wanted to try and eat anything.

Cas had flipped out, pulling away from Dean and railing at him in Enochian for a good five minutes before he finally trailed off, breaking down again and looking so lost. He had been absolutely inconsolable until finally Dean had coaxed him into his new room and managed to get him into bed.

He'd slept for an entire day afterward.

It was now the sixth day.

Dean found him exactly where he'd expected, seated on the edge of the bed in his room, hands folded in his lap, head bowed and shoulders slumped, staring into space with a vacant expression on his face. He seemed to be getting worse with each new day, each new human experience, and Dean was desperate to find a way to break him out of it.

For the last week, Dean had tried to give the fallen angel room to breathe, not crowding his personal space and allowing him to come to terms with his new situation, but it didn't appear to be working; it seemed more like it was making things worse.

Today, instead of standing by the door and talking his friend out of his shell, he let himself into the room and sat down on the bed beside Castiel, putting an arm around him and gently pulling him against his side. He and Sam had talked about it the night before, and Sam had explained, drawing from his experience being possessed by Lucifer, that angels were almost like a hive-mind; they were all connected to one another to a degree, no matter how far removed they were from the host. What Dean referred to as 'Angel Radio' was really more like a collective consciousness, and Cas had just been abruptly and rudely cut off from that collective and was probably going through a sort of withdrawl from the connection he'd had for millenia.

Dean watched his friend's face for any sign of resistance to the invasion of his personal bubble, but Cas simply closed his eyes, actually seeming to relax against him somewhat. Dean said nothing, glad to just offer this bit of comfort where he could.

"Why are you keeping me here, Dean," Cas rasped after a long stretch of silence.

Dean glanced down at the fallen angel, who hadn't moved since laying his head on Dean's shoulder. It was the most words he'd strung together at once since before Dean had brought him home.

"Why do you think?" Dean asked back, bringing up his other arm to encircle the other man.

Castiel seemed to give it considerable thought before answering, "I don't know. I'm not of any use to you any longer. My Grace is gone... I am... 'Mojo-less'."

Dean really did try not to chuckle at the expression, compromising by giving his friend a brief, light squeeze in his embrace.

"You're not useless, Cas," Dean sighed. "I still need you, Mojo or no Mojo."

"Why."

Dean sighed. He'd considered this very conversation over the last few days. The last couple of weeks, really. Ever since the Naga's dream, he'd thought about what he'd learned in his brief visit to the future. Given everything that had happened since Wamego, he knew that he had, in fact, seen his future. Not _this _future, obviously things had changed. Sam wasn't gone, Dean hadn't set fire to anything and they hadn't gone to Michigan (which, Dean reminded himself, he really should call Charlie soon).

The one thing that he hadn't been able to change was possibly even more devestating, though. True, losing Sam would have destroyed Dean for a long time, but he knew he would have gotten past it. His future self had, and had even managed to find something good out of everything that had happened.

His future self had been _happy_, becaue of _Castiel_.

Castiel's future self had been happy, too, because of _Dean_.

He'd seen it, even held onto it for just a moment, and now that he was this close to it again, he wanted to grasp onto it and never let go.

_Pick two, _he thought to himself bitterly, _you can't have it all._

Dean sighed, burying his face in the tangle of Castiel's hair. "Because I do, Cas. Because you're you, and I love you."

Castiel pulled away slowly, a contemplative frown marring his brow as he searched the hunter's eyes for meaning.

Dean knew he was bad at words; trying to explain himself would just make this more complicated, more difficult to get across.

So, foregoing words, he let his actions do the explaining, leaning in as his fingers traced lightly against the stubble along his angel's jawline, his heart beating a staccato rhythm in his chest as their lips pressed together, chaste and warm and hopefully conveying all the words Dean didn't know how to say. He felt Castiel tense against him and almost pulled away, but then the angel relaxed, becoming pliant as his lips returned the warmth of the kiss.

Dean smiled as he pulled back a few inches, his angel's lips chasing after the warmth that still lingered after the connection had been broken.

Two out of three wasn't so bad, and Dean had a feeling that, given enough time, everything was going to be just fine.

This was a start.

* * *

(**A/N: **Whew! That was one hell of a montage. I realise that it ends kind of abruptly, but honestly I felt like it was a fitting ending for this fic, considering we sort of started at an end, why not end with a beginning?

I'm considering doing an epilogue of sorts, if there's enough interest in finding out what happens next ;)

Don't forget to review and let me know how you liked it! I'm sorry it got pretty angsty there for a bit, and the spell was kind of a cop-out, but you know what? I love Sammy, even though Dean and Cas are my favs, Sammy's part of the deal in anything that involves Dean. You guys had to know I wouldn't leave him dead, right? Right.

Fucking hell, I can't believe this thing got so big so fast o_O So yeah, lemme know if ya'll wanna see that epilogue.)


	3. There's a Place in the Stars

Saturday, February 22nd, 2014

Four men and two women were all that remained of the human population after the virus broke out.

The hotel ballroom was swarming with infected, milling about and crashing into each other, following the intoxicating scent of the last six living survivors huddled behind a row of tables. Cubicle-style walls had been set up to create long corridors and sharp turns where the walking dead lurked, waiting to rend living flesh from bone. The lights had dimmed, reducing visibility in the room along with long swathes of camo netting hung like a canopy, gauzy webbing dripping down here and there, obscuring passages and providing the perfect hiding place for any number of the dead.

"Okay," the flame-haired leader of the small human resistance whispered, peeking around the edge of their hide-out, "there's what, a twenty-five? Thirty of them?"

"Yeah, about that," confirmed her green-eyed second in command, "I think we can break for the bunker on the far wall - get into a secure area. You said they had a two turn delay?"

"It's half a turn," argued the blonde woman in the camoflage jacket, "there's too many of them, we're screwed!"

"I could provide a distraction," offered the dark haired man in the beige trench coat.

"No, it's better if we stick together," the tall mop-haired man interjected, "we could do like Roman-formation, you know, turtle up?"

"I still don't know why I'm here," griped the youngest member of their band of misfits, "I should never have let you assholes drag me into this. And I'm pretty sure you mean 'Testudo Formation', Sam."

"That's not a bad idea," the redhead agreed, "do we have anything we can use as shields?"

"We could use Dean," the kid offered, "he's meaty. He'll keep them busy for a while."

"Shut up Kevin," Dean smirked. "Hey, Charlie, what if we do like in Shaun of the Dead and we just, y'know, 'pretend that we're dead'?"

"Right," Kevin snorted, "because that ever works in real life."

"Right. So, no shields," Sam sighed. "Should we try it?"

"Fuck it," Dean shrugged, "let's roll! Cas, stick with me, okay?"

Banding together, the six survivors made their way around the edge of the tables, huddled tight and cards gripped in their hands as they inched out of the safe zone and into the labyrinth where the dead waited.

"Stay away from the nets and the corners," Charlie reminded the crew, "don't let them tag you in the back."

"Damn it!" A shout came from the end of their line; the young blonde woman was face to face with one of the creatures, holding an eight of Spades in her hand, the zombie grinning back with a nine of diamonds held up between his thumb and forefinger.

"Go go go!" Sam hissed at the rest of the team as they picked up their pace, closing the gap left behind by their fallen camrade.

The swarm came then, closing in on the survivors on all sides. Dean moved between Castiel and a pimple-faced kid in a Pikachu costume, cards flying. Kevin fell next, turning his back for just a moment and allowing himself to be tagged by a particularly sneaky zombie that had been concealed in a curtain of green mesh webbing.

"Ah, frak!" Charlie pouted as she pulled a two from her opponent's hand, leaving only the Winchesters and Castiel against the hoarde.

"I think _now _we're probably screwed," Sam suggested as they broke away from the skirmish, heading toward the bunker.

"Gee, Sammy, ya think?" Dean huffed. "Wait, where the hell is Cas?"

Dean stopped, searching the corridor for the fallen angel and getting himself blind-sided by a tag to the back of the head.

"If I'm going down, so're you," Charlie grinned up at him as he spun around to face her, smugly rubbing in his face that he'd had his guard down. "This is a cut-throat game, Winchester - can't let your boyfriend distract you if you wanna win."

"Shaddap," he snarked back, giving her a playful shove. "Hey, they haven't called Last Man yet."

"So Sam's not the last survivor," Charlie grinned wider. "Let's go get'em"

The two newly infected zombies worked together in tandem, locating the younger Winchester just a few feet from the bunker.

"You guys suck," Sam whined at his brother and their friend as he drew up short, "zombies are supposed to swarm, not work together and form attack plans!"

"Aw, come on, Samantha," Charlie smirked and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow, "don't get butthurt because you lost."

A few moments later the lights in the ballroom came on, bathing the room in flourescence as the hosts announced the 'Last Man Standing'.

* * *

"How the hell did you manage to make it into the bunker, Cas?" Dean groused, playfully bumping the shoulders with dark-haired man next to him at their table in the hotel's bar, taking a break from the multitude of activities that AdventureCon had to offer.

Castiel smirked, taking a sip of Long Island Iced Tea. "I have years of experience in stealth combat of which you could not begin to fathom the number. Just because this simulation used cards rather than physical combat does not negate that my knowledge of battle tactics are superior."

"Game."

Cas blinked at Charlie, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

"It's a game, Cas," she said, rolling her eyes in jest, "not a 'battle simulation."

"All of your 'games'", he finger quoted at her, "are simulations of practical situations. Games such as this have been played since long before your species learned to draw pictures on the walls of caves."

"All right, Spock, enough with the history lessons," Dean interrupted, cutting off further arguments from the angel with his mouth, earning him a grunt of protest and resigned reciprocation.

"Ugh, you guys are disgusting," Sam said, whapping his brother lightly on the arm for emphasis, but smirked at the two anyway as he finished the dregs of his beer. "Get a room, jeez."

"We have a room, Sam," Castiel informed the younger Winchester, frowning slightly.

"He knows that, Cas, he's just being a bitch," Dean grinned.

"I was merely going to inform him," Castiel continued in a surly tone, eyebrows innocently arched, "that we already have a room here at the hotel, and if he wishes to, he may find something to occupy himself whilst we use it to fornicate. That is, I assume, what you were suggesting, Sam?"

Sam choked on his Heineken, face turning beet-red as his brother laughed raucously, clapping the fallen angel on the back. Dean knew that Sam was fine with him and Cas being _him _and _Cas_, but that didn't mean that Dean wouldn't jump on any opportunity he could find to fuck with his kid brother.

The last few months had been rough. Acclimatizing Castiel to his new life was full of ups and downs, fraught with panic attacks and arguments and a hurricane of guilt. Luckily, Dean had been there to catch the fallen angel each time he fell, their bond becoming more and more profound. It had been slow building, but everything had fallen into place in the end, and Dean found himself (literally) living the dream.

Only now it seemed that real life was better than he'd dreamed; he still had his brother, still found his angel and Charlie had quickly become like the little sister he never knew he wanted. For the first time since losing Bobby, Dean felt like he had a family and a home again.

They'd ended up staying in the bunker, after all, which was fine by Dean; he still didn't know how he'd managed to live in that tiny apartment in that other timeline - it felt so freaking claustrophobic. After a lifetime of moving from motel to motel, the bunker was positively palatial, his very own Batcave. Besides, there was plenty of room in the Men of Letters bunker for Sam to move his room to the far, _far _end of the dormitory, well away from the room shared by Dean and Castiel.

"I'm gonna go get another round, who's in?" Dean asked as he stood, heading over to the bar.

They still hunted the odd monster or ghost, but cases had been fewer and further between since the gates of Hell were shut. On occasion they would even come across a fallen angel, but it seemed as though most of the angels aside from Cas had either lost their memories of Heaven or gone mad from the ordeal. Dean hated it, but they would just keep moving forward. Cas said nothing to show that these encounters affected him in any way, but would usually disappear into a spare room upon returning to the bunker and they wouldn't see him again for a day or two.

It had been seven months since Heaven fell and the gates of Hell were locked tight. They hadn't seen any other angels in at least three months now, and their last job had been a stray leviathan that had holed itself up on a chicken farm in Kentucky, back in December. Garth still kept them in the loop whenever something did come up, but the hunter's network had become so organized over the last few years that most of the little stuff got dealt with before the Winchesters ever caught wind of it.

Kevin kept working on the Angel Tablet, searching for a way to restore Heaven and take out Metatron, but the angelic scribe hadn't bothered them since kicking his siblings out of Cloud City. Cas had insisted that the prophet had done more than enough on Heaven's behalf and all but commanded the kid to go back to school like he had wanted before being drawn into the world of monsters and angels and demons. Kevin had relented, applying to and getting accepted at Princeton (with a little unsolicited help from Charlie).

When Dean brought their drinks back to the table, the blonde girl from the Zombie Apocalypse LARP (Tracy? Stacy? Dean couldn't remember) was chatting with Charlie, who was showing the other woman how to operate her digital camera. Charlie's eyes lit up as Dean set the bottles down, giving Sam and Castiel a conspiratory little smile.

"We need a picture of all of us," she suggested, as though afraid Dean would balk at the idea. "We've been hanging out for months now and I don't have _one _picture of any of you."

Dean couldn't help but grin, because he remembered it now; the bar, Charlie and his angel, and now his little brother, too. He remembered how happy he'd looked in that picture, how he hadn't understood by looking at it how he could possibly feel so light and burden-free, or how easily a smile could fit on his or Cas' face after everything they'd been through.

He understood it now, though. He _felt_ lighter, he _felt_ burden free. They had accomplished so much in their short, eventful lives. They'd stopped the Apocalypse, sealed the Leviathan, survived Hell and Purgatory and even Heaven. They'd slain monsters and gods and even a fucking _dragon _once for fuck's sake. Now that the worst of it was gone, locked away in its hole for eternity, Dean felt like he had every right to feel as happy as he did, especially since he didn't have to sacrifice anyone to get it.

"All right," he shrugged, smirking at the surprized look of skepticism on Charlie and Sam's faces, "but I want a copy."

Dean slipped behind Castiel as Blondie took up position and aimed the camera at them, wrapping his arms around his angel from behind with his chin resting on the other man's shoulder and grinning like an idiot, flanked on either side by his little brother and his adopted little sister.

For a Winchester, it couldn't really get much better than this.

* * *

(**A/N:** And that, as they say, is a wrap! As angsty and painful and tragic as it was this fic was, I felt like the boys deserved a bit of fluffy down time, and Charlie did insist that Dean and Cas still go to AdventureCon :P

Please review ._. I love reviews. Reviews make me very happy.

If you were confused about the 'cards' thing in the zombie LARP at the beginning, it's one of the ways to do live-action World of Darkness (WhiteWolf) roleplay - typically I've only seen it used in Masquerade and Werewolf, but basically the idea is that WoD dice pools are based off of 'successes' on a D10 - an 8 or higher being a success - the higher the number of successes the better you accomplished the skill or attack. Basically, cards are easier to use when you're moving around and not using a table to play, so each player is given a stack of ten playing cards (Ace[1], 2-10) and when two players are engaged in combat or an action or skill etc, your draw a card from your opponent's stack, and your opponent does the same, and whoever draws the higher card wins the attack. A tag in Last Man Standing (your typical zombie apocalypse) is achieved when you, while infected, can manage to sneak up on a survivor and 'infect' them without a direct confrontation. Wow, that was way too much explanation...

idk if anyone caught it, but _Pretend We're Dead _is a reference to an L7 song.)


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